It was a Friday night, everything was going great. Until you begged your father, Alex Turner, to not let you go to your mother, Alex Chung’s house. You sobbed in your father’s arms, shaking and begging him, while his phone continuously beeped with impatient calls and messages from Alexa, asking where her daughter was. Like she cared.

Soon, you opened up that she had been hitting you and you had started self harming a few months ago. Your arms now bandaged up, your cried into Alex’s neck while he rubbed your back, shouting on the phone at Alexa.